


I Picture You in the Sun/Wondering

by inthisdive



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 09:07:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15969179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inthisdive/pseuds/inthisdive
Summary: Season one timeline. Nathan’s life isn’t where it should be. But Peter is still present. Joseph Arthur’s ‘In the Sun’ has slipped into my head every time I sit down to work on this. Hence the title. This was originally written & published on livejournal in November 2008.





	I Picture You in the Sun/Wondering

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raedbard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raedbard/gifts).



Nathan is not supposed to be here. 

The election is so close. His campaign is behind more points than he likes to think about. It is dinnertime at home and Heidi – god, Heidi – is in a wheelchair, and she is dealing with the boys on her own. Nathan is letting her deal with it on her own. There is something here to remember, something about wedding vows. About better or for worse, about sickness and health. But there is nothing to remember, vows or platitudes or otherwise, about fault and flying and the way that, apparently, Nathan Petrelli just can’t win. And Nathan Petrelli is _supposed_ to win. 

There is too much going on; Nathan is not supposed to be here. 

He's spent the last two hours here, the here that is Peter's apartment, and he feels too big for it and Peter seems so small and so grown. They are sitting identically slumped in opposite chairs. They each hold a beer. They don’t have time for this and their silence is more pronounced than usual. The setting is so wrong for Nathan, so right for Peter. Nathan wonders when they became so different. 

It's seven p.m. Nathan is not supposed to be here. 

Peter looks tired, Nathan notices. He looks as tired as Nathan feels, down to the bone and heavy-lidded, weighted. Nathan usually doesn't think of the things Peter carries but they all come back to him now: a crumbling family, a tough job, his mother's attention. A 'something strange' that Nathan both doesn’t understand and doesn't want to know about. 

He says, “You look tired, Pete,” and there's a crinkling of concern – just a little – around Nathan's eyes. No one needs to know it, but he worries about his little brother. 

Peter looks up, almost glares. “Yeah. I'm not the one -” 

Nathan cuts him off with a sigh; he knows that look. “Don't do this. Don't fight with me.” 

“You said I was sui--”

“Just for the _polls_ ” he explains for what feels like the hundredth time. Peter just doesn't get it, Nathan knows, and there's a pressing sense of guilt in Nathan’s stomach over it, and his wife is at home in a goddamn wheelchair and he can fly, and he doesn't want to talk about any of it. 

“You can't just do that,” Peter says again, like he’s been saying for days. “You can’t make those decisions or say those things. It’s not okay.” His drink finds its way to the floor between them; when he leans down to place it there Nathan notices the curve of Peter's spine, the way his bangs fall across his eyes. 

Nathan is not supposed to be here. 

When Peter straightens up again, he isn't looking at Nathan. Nathan knows this because he's watching Peter, studying. 

His brother, his little Pete, takes things so hard sometimes. 

“When was the last time you had dinner with Heidi?” Peter asks, and Nathan closes his eyes. 

“Not now.”

“What's happening to you?” This time, Peter's voice is no more quiet but intensely more reproachful, and Nathan's remembers the days when, in Peter's eyes, he was beyond reproach.

The past six months – the past year, almost – has brought them here (where Nathan is not supposed to be). “I don't know,” he says shortly, honestly, and sometimes the world is too much even for Nathan Petrelli, who has been told his entire life that he would be its master. He drops his head in his hands. Peter, kind, too-soft Peter comes over and kneels by Nathan's chair, curves around Nathan's legs, rests his head on Nathan's lap. It's a comfort and Nathan is too guilty for comfort. 

“It'll get better,” Peter tells him. It occurs to Nathan that in his way, Peter is just as intense as he is himself – just as believable. “You've just gotta think about what you're doing.”

Nathan nods and straightens up, wordless. Peter does too, the moment over; he stands in front of Nathan, clamps his shoulder, briefly, and turns to walk away with his back to Nathan's chair. 

When he turns, Nathan grabs his wrist, pulls him back, turns him in. “Pete...”

Peter looks at him, wide-eyed.

“I'm sorry,” Nathan says quietly, and he isn't sure if he's apologising for past sins or what happens next; he doesn't get a chance to qualify because so suddenly it _is_ what happens next. What happens next is this: Nathan's mouth is on Peter's and his hand is under Peter’s T-shirt, against his back, all hot skin and hotter mouth. 

And Peter is all around him; he pushes closer, he kisses back, his eyes closed in concentration. Nathan doesn't stop for thought or for deed – with tongue and mouth and lips and hands, he apologises. With Peter’s answering kiss, the hand that finds the curve of his jaw, Peter grants him his benediction. 

Nathan is not supposed to be here; he doesn't belong anywhere else.


End file.
